


someone will remember us I say (even in another time)

by lindeauenfeu



Category: Portrait de la jeune fille en feu | Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)
Genre: Angst, Drama & Romance, F/F, Slow Burn, Titanic AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22811932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindeauenfeu/pseuds/lindeauenfeu
Summary: "Sophie, I'm sorry...""What?!?-"Marianne cuts her off, placing the cards down for everyone to see: a full house, queens over nines."Because we're going to America!" she exclaims.A.k.a the Titanic AU you didn't know you needed.The year is 1912, and the RMS Titanic sails its maiden voyage across the Atlantic. Héloïse, sailing away from her freedom, to a country she does not know and an arranged marriage she protests. Marianne, sailing away from poverty and struggle, with her companion, Sophie, and their few belongings. Fate will draw them together, but can it stop the forces keeping them apart?
Relationships: Héloïse/Marianne (Portrait of a Lady on Fire), Marianne & Sophie (Portrait of a Lady on Fire)
Comments: 64
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Portrait of a Lady on Fire destroyed my heart. I have literally not been able to stop thinking about it. Fortunately, it has also inspired me. It's terrifying to write something based on the masterpiece that is Portrait, but this has been a wonderful experience. I've enjoyed mapping out this story and writing this chapter so much. If you read this and love it, feel free to let me know! I love this fandom so much and I am so happy to be part of it. <3
> 
> Enjoy!

Numb. That's how Héloïse feels - cold and calm. Maybe even resigned. She has always kept her anger to the fore, but at this moment it is overwhelming.

As the car gradually slows, she sits forward and peers out the window at the crowded dock. There is no doubt about her feelings on this journey - she made her opinion very clear to her fiancé when he had purchased the tickets several months earlier. Even her own mother, who was resistant to the idea at first, had eventually caved in fear that he would break the engagement. After that conversation, she had resigned herself to the fact that she was being shipped to America, whether she liked it or not.

And she certainly did not. Héloïse adored France. It was her home and the only place she truly felt loved. If even the trip to London unsettled her, she couldn't imagine how hard it will be a continent away. Not only a continent away but married to this fiancé of hers.

She was expected to hold down a good husband now, one that can support her mother as well. She was their ticket to salvaging the family's standing and future. After the mistakes of her father, the family was left a shadow of its former self, the Comtesse forced to sell many of the family's properties. Even years after his death, the impact of his doings was still felt. Happiness, freedom, joy - none of these were of importance to her fiancé nor likely to be a part of her future. All she had now was herself, and perhaps that was all that mattered. She controls her own love and she certainly will not be giving it to this man. What is left of it belongs to her late sister and her mother.

She sighs deeply as the car rolls to a stop. The door swings open and Héloïse takes the hand offered by the driver, stepping out into the sunlight. Grateful for the hat shading her eyes from the worst of the sunlight, she squints up the ship.

"It doesn't look any bigger than the Mauretania."

Of course, count on her fiancé to disagree with her.

"Héloïse, darling, don't be petulant. The Titanic is larger and far more luxurious. It has anything you could ever wish for, squash courts, Turkish baths, a Parisian café. We'll be treated as deserved here. Like royalty. You'll see, sweetheart."

Héloïse grits her teeth and forces herself to nod as he holds his arm out for her mother, helping her out of the car.

"Your daughter is much too hard to impress, Victoria."

Her mother gazes at the ship with surprise and wonder in her eyes, evidently enough for her to ignore her future son-in-law's remark.

"So this is the ship they say is unsinkable," she breathes out.

Héloïse isn't sure of that. The ocean is a wild creature; nothing is truly unsinkable.

"It is unsinkable! God himself could not sink this ship!"

Fortunately for her sanity, a porter arrives asking for their luggage, cutting off what was sure to be a long spiel.

Héloïse takes this opportunity to slip away into the crowd, to be free for one last moment. Her chest constricts painfully as a lump forms in her throat. She inhales, containing herself. She cannot afford to reveal herself; her face must remain an impassible mask.

She can hear her fiancé's smug voice over the crowd and resists the urge to bolt as he approaches her. His vise-like grip increases every step closer to the ship as she is led away from her freedom, to a country she does not know and a marriage she laments. She tries to stay realistic, but with her fiancé at her side and the corridors of the great ship seemingly closing in on her, Héloïse cannot rid herself from the feeling of entrapment.

* * *

Deep breaths. In and out. One breath at a time, one day at a time.

Right. Granted, most of Marianne's days don’t involve high-stakes, all-in poker games. On days like this, she thought, she could be allowed a bit of worrying. She glances down at her cards one last time. She'll have to be lucky to win this.

Biting her lip, she looks over at Sophie, her partner in crime - they're practically sisters, life had thrown together and they'd stayed together since - who is studying her cards with a perfect poker face. Perhaps their opponents can't tell, but after years with her, Marianne can tell that her hand does not bode well for them.

In front of them, on a well-worn table, is everything they own. Coins, a few crumpled bills, cigarettes, Sophie's pocket watch and embroideries, Marianne's precious paint supplies - beside the ultimate prize - two tickets to the ship that lays in the harbor right outside the pub. Two tickets to freedom and a new life, to the prospect of living outside of the abject poverty of their past, to the prospect of a real studio and good supplies.

God, she may not show it, but at this moment she feels truly desperate.

"Well, someone's luck is about to change. This is it, everyone."

She studies her cards. She has a good chance, with a two pair, but this last card will make it or break it for them. Just one. If she draws the wrong one, they could lose everything. She and Sophie would go back to being effectively homeless. This is a one in a billion shot and she can't afford to lose.

Hands shaking slightly, Marianne draws her card.

She inhales sharply.

A queen.

A _queen_.

Deep breath. In and out.

"Good. Let's see 'em."

As each player reveals their hands, Marianne's heart beats faster. Sophie has nothing, slamming her cards down on the table and glaring. She can feel her gaze on her as they continue around the table. The young couple throws down nothing. The dark-haired man across from her throws down nothing as well. She inhales sharply as the last player throws down his cards with a smirk.

A two pair. A _two pair_.

Oh.

Marianne fights to contain her smile, locking eyes with Sophie as she hesitates to reveal her hand.

"Sophie, I'm sorry..."

"What?!?-"

Marianne cuts her off, placing the cards down for everyone to see: a full house, queens over nines.

"Because we're going to America!" she exclaims, jumping up as Sophie squeezes the living day out of her.

She snatches the tickets from the table as Sophie gathers their belongings, avoiding the menacing look the man is giving her. She is practically vibrating with joy as Sophie leads them over to the bartender. She could fly at this moment.

The barkeep smiles at them, her smile sliding as she glances over at the clock.

"If you're going, you'd better hurry. The Titanic's leaving the harbor in five minutes."

"Oh shit," Marianne breathes, panic quickly setting in. She grabs the last few coins from the table and together they make a wild dash for the door, sprinting out into the street and through the crowd to the ship of their dreams.

"We're going to be free!" Sophie shouts.

"Not if we don't make it there in time," Marianne replies, rounding the corner as the gangplank is about to be raised.

Making a last push through the crowd, Sophie runs up to the uniformed man practically thrusting the tickets in his face. Marianne catches up behind her, panting slightly.

"Wait! Wait! There are two more passengers!"

The man pauses for a second, frazzled.

"Euh, have you gone through inspection?"

Both of them nod vigorously.

"Of course! We don't have lice anyway, we're Americans!" Sophie exclaims - in the best English accent she has ever put on, Marianne decides.

"Right, well come aboard," he responds, glancing at the tickets as they step aboard the Titanic, the gangplank closing behind them.

"Mr. and Mrs. Di Angelis?" he reads, scrutinizing them.

Deep breaths. Right. Sophie said she needed to relax, otherwise, it would be obvious.

Marianne glances over at Sophie, who is currently putting on her best smile.

No one is overtly staring at her, which gives her some comfort. When Sophie had first suggested going as a man, Marianne had been for the most part concerned by the idea. But after the events of the previous weekend, it seemed better to travel together this way. Besides, she was enjoying the freedom that pretending to be a man gave her. And the pockets. She would kill to have pockets like these on her dresses and whatnot.

Luck is with them, as after a moment's hesitation, he hands their tickets back and steps aside. They rush forward, down the corridor, giddy with their success.

"I knew you'd make a fine gentleman," Sophie teases.

Marianne grins wildly and shakes her head.

"We've done it," she breathes, as they maneuver through the narrow hallways.

They navigate through the crowded lower levels with relative ease, avoiding most of the general chaos, Sophie keeping an eye out for their room. Eventually finding it, Marianne swings the door open and Sophie hurries in, almost colliding with a tall brunette carrying a baby. Marianne peers into the cramped cabin, taking in the circumstances. Bunk beds line the walls, two in total. Another young woman stands by a sink of some sort, washing clothes. She slips into the room, setting her belongings on the bunk. She can hear Sophie apologizing to the woman in rapid Italian and she remembers, this is the last time they will see Europe for a long time.

"Sophie! We have to go up on deck!"

Sophie's eyes widen and she swings her belongings onto the top bunk before grabbing Marianne's arm and pulling her out of the cabin.

"Of course! We have to say goodbye!"

Emerging from the lower deck, they run directly to the railing and hoist themselves up a few rungs, waving at the crowd.

"Goodbye!"

Marianne closes her eyes and when she opens them, the ship has started its slow exit from the harbor to the cheers of the crowd below. Sophie smiles at her and squeezes her hand.

It's certain now. They're going to America.


	2. Chapter 2

Héloïse paces to the tempo of the clock, her fiancé's voice sounding dully in the background as he argues with a servant. Even in the seemingly palatial suite, with its plush furniture and cherry stained wood, the walls still seem to close in. 

The calm she has forced upon herself is slowly receding. She feels trapped, and she can't do anything to change that. She sets down her glass of champagne and walks to the center of the room, bending down to lift a canvas.

A servant had arrived earlier, bringing her collection of paintings to the suite. She runs her thumb over the edge of the canvas; just feeling the roughness is momentarily soothing to her. She needs to do something, anything to escape-

"I'm going to set out my collection now." 

Her voice is low but surprisingly steady.

Her fiancé pauses, glancing down at the paintings pretentiously.

"Those mud puddles were certainly a waste of money."

Héloïse clenches her fingers, holding back a sharp retort as she feels her mother's warning gaze on her.

"It's bad enough that you've had them carted around with us, but now in our own suite?" 

He picks up the canvas roughly, flipping it over. 

"Picasso, hmm? He'll never amount to a thing, trust me. It may be nice to have these, but it is merely a dalliance, nothing serious. A real man must truly work."

With this, he tosses the painting aside. 

“A real man-“

"Héloïse can put them in her drawing room, non?" the Comtesse interjects, sensing Héloïse's growing anger. She gently picks the painting up and places it under her arm, holding Héloïse's gaze.

Before he can argue, he is distracted by the entrance of yet another servant, this time with a large safe.

"Surely. At least they were cheap," he quips, waving with a flourish towards the paintings. 

A servant quickly begins to move the paintings to the drawing room, as the Comtesse wordlessly returns the painting to her. Héloïse throws her head back, downing the entirety of her champagne before she storms to the refuge of her drawing room.

* * *

The ship is truly spectacular. Marianne hasn't seen many ships in her lifetime, but according to Sophie, these third-class cabins are comparable to second-class or even first-class cabins on other ships. Everything is new and shiny, from the deck to the railings on which they are currently resting.

She gazes at the retreating coast, biting her lip slightly. She's hopeful their prospects will be better in America, but one cannot really know for sure. However, her train of thought is interrupted by Sophie, who smiles up at her. 

"I can literally hear you thinking."

She pauses, pulling on Marianne's sleeve.

"Come on, I can see the Statue of Liberty from here!"

Marianne snorts but follows Sophie as she slides down the railing, pointing into the distance.

"It's really small, of course."

Marianne smiles and glances down at the waves which sparkle in the midday sun. She gasps in surprise as fins glint in the midday sun. 

"Wait, are those dolphins?"

"Dolphins!!"

Marianne relaxes against the railing, smiling slightly at Sophie's infectious joy. She wishes she had brought her supplies up here, the view is absolutely beautiful.

* * *

The inane drone of conversation fills Héloïse's ears as she picks listlessly at her lunch. She had been excited about this lunch as it gave her an opportunity to escape. To escape the confines of her suite without the harassment of her soon to be husband. It may not seem like much, but every time he touches her, often feeling her down like the pig he is, makes her want to retreat to a darkness and never return. 

The only interesting part of this luncheon was the presence of a Miss Colette Wittig - the fiery and enigmatic CEO of one of the largest publishers in New York City who did not tolerate being talked down to by anyone, especially the men. Several times, the Director of the entire White Star Line, Mr. Ismay, had attempted to talk over her or interrupt her and had been very clearly and thoroughly shut down. Héloïse had secretly hoped that they would have mentioned the arts and music, yet all the conversation remained in the realm of superficiality and petty barbs. She tries to answer a question from one of the men, but her fiancé interrupts her before she can, talking about plans for their upcoming wedding. 

The wedding. 

She's suddenly overcome with nausea. She'd always thought of it as a far off occurrence, but to have him speak of it thrusts her into the reality of her situation. As he talks about the prospect of children, she has to resist gagging. She had hoped not, but it is likely that he expects her to start bearing children right away.

As the waiter arrives, he doesn't even wait for her to inquire for the menu before he orders for her. 

"We'll both have the lamb. Rare, with very little mint sauce. You like lamb, right sweetpea?"

Héloïse hates lamb. 

Fingers trembling slightly, she locates and lights a cigarette. She inhales the calming smoke, thankful for the respite. Her actions go unnoticed by her fiancé until Ismay quips something about women smoking.

"She knows."

He reaches out and seizes her cigarette from the holder between her fingers, stubbing it out on the table.

She freezes, wanting to resist - to fight back - but she can sense his volatile mood. As she looks across the table, her eyes meet those of Colette's, whose seemingly will her to continue, as she does, cigarette in hand. 

Héloïse lowers her gaze. She cannot. He will make her pay for it later. She can't.

But god, she wants to. 

"I wanted to convey sheer size. And by size, power and strength."

As Ismay continues with his speech, Héloïse meets the eyes of Colette, and she finds herself speaking before she can stop herself.

"Do you know of Dr. Freud? His ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you, Mr. Ismay."

Héloïse hears a snort from the gentleman across from her, who struggles to contain his laughter. Colette openly smiles at her. Even her mother, who has stayed very quiet throughout the ordeal bears a slight smile. Héloïse almost returns it but remembers the coming repercussions of her actions.

She stands from the table.

"Excuse me."

Héloïse rushes from the room, making her way down the top deck, the furthest she can get from there. She approaches the balcony overlooking the deck, breathing in sharply. She feels freedom in the sight of the sea, the overwhelming greatness of it all. As the wind blows, she feels the urge to pitch the obnoxious hat.

She wished she wasn't wearing it. She wishes she could remove it, pull the pins from her hair, let her hair down. As she studies the second class passengers, she envies their relaxed clothing and easy smiles. 

She inhales and removes the hat from her head, staring at it for a second - it's a particularly ugly one, her fiancé bought it for her - before throwing it into the sea.

She breathes in and out, watching as it bobs before being swallowed by the waves.

Leaning on the railing, she glances down at the lower deck. She sees a man reading a newspaper, a young child perched next to him, a mother and child, and finally, a trio by the benches-

One of which, is most certainly staring at her.

As they lock eyes, Héloïse takes her in. She's dressed very practically for a woman, with fitted black pants, short leather boots, and a slightly loose white button down, rolled carefully to her elbows. Her? Perhaps she was simply a very clean shaven young man. Héloïse studies the features quizzically, her eyes inadvertently traveling south to the swell of her chest. She sighs in relief. She's a woman. Héloïse inhales, considering lighting another cigarette. One more glance, nothing more.

The subject of Héloïse's gaze balances a sketchbook on her knee, a piece of charcoal between her fingers. Her dark hair is cut short, though still slightly longer than a man's, it’s soft curls gently ruffled by the wind. Héloïse looks away. She's being ridiculous, there's no way she's still looking at her.

She can't still be looking. She must have looked away by now.

Héloïse can't help herself.

She looks back.

The woman hasn't looked away either. In fact, she's leaned forward slightly, as if to see her more intently. Their eyes lock again and Héloïse feels her chest tighten. She feels as if this woman sees her - truly sees her - sees her through her self imposed mask, the one she's created to survive. Even from this distance, Héloïse is captured and laid bare by the woman's gaze. She can't look away and neither can the woman, evidently, as her gaze seems only more intense now.

Héloïse swallows hard, her heartbeat quickening; her body heating up.

I should go to her. 

Should I go to her?

No. She can't. Her fiancé surely must be looking for her. As if summoned by the very thought, her fiancé appears behind her, grabbing her arm with a vise-like grip and pulling her away from the railing.

"Storming off like that is unbecoming of my future wife, Héloïse. Return to lunch, now.” His voice is so self-righteous, so smug, and Héloïse feels strangely emboldened by the staring contest she had with the beautiful woman below.

“I’m not hungry,” she replies, ripping her arm from his grip.

“Héloïse, this immaturity will end. You’ve embarrassed both me and your mother, and you will-“ he makes a grab for her arm again but she pulls it from his grasp once again.

“Let go of me. I’m going back to my rooms.”

“Héloïse –“

But Héloïse is gone, wishing that if anything, she’d had more time.

* * *

Marianne relaxes on the deck next to Sophie. She and their cabin-mate, Isabella, have started up a rather lively card game. Marianne isn't truly active in such game, as she has spent her time sketching - their surroundings: a man and his small child, a man reading a newspaper, even an old woman. She glances up as Isabella replaces her card.

"No one, and I mean no one, has beaten me in cards," Isabella adds.

Marianne smirks at her words and throws a card down, winking at Sophie as she does such. But before she can declare herself victorious, her breath catches as a splash of green appears on the balcony of the upper class deck. A splash of green, no, she spots a green dress, worn by a woman - quite possibly the most beautiful woman she's ever seen.

She looks like a goddess of old; one with a tragic story. Sadness is clearly etched onto her face, as she gazes off into the distant waves. Marianne feels her heart clench and wishes she could go to her - do anything.

Her eyes, however, shine with unspoken strength, flashing strong and bright, refusing to be smothered by the shroud of despair surrounding her. She approaches the railing and leans against it, deflating as she looks towards the horizon. In a blink of an eye, she reaches up and takes her hat - a extravagant frilly thing - and gazes at it for a moment before flinging it over the side of the ship. Her hair slowly comes undone and billows gently around her head like a golden halo. 

Marianne can't stop herself from grinning - she really likes this woman. The woman seems shocked at her own actions and freezes, staring at her hat bobbing in the water, before it is capsized, disappearing into the waves. 

Marianne gazes at her reverently, her thoughts swirling chaotically but seemingly to one point, her. She takes her in, trying to absorb her features and expression. She has to get this moment down. Before she can think, she’s slipped a fresh sheet of paper out of her sketchbook and sketched the bare outline of the woman. She needs more, but she can hardly keep her eyes off the woman and onto the paper. 

Marianne inhales as the woman turns her eyes to the lower deck and she could swear for a moment that their eyes meet before the woman turns away. She feels drawn to her, as if by an invisible string. Look back at me, Marianne thinks, almost begs. 

Look back.

As if willed by an invisible and almighty force, the woman turns around, her gaze capturing Marianne's, swallowing her whole. There is no question to who she is looking at, Marianne thinks. Their eyes are locked now, and Marianne can almost see the color of her eyes. Or lack of definite color, she decides. In the receding sunlight, her eyes look almost green.

The feeling swells, and she can't look away, even as Sophie waves a hand in front of her face. Something in the woman's demeanor breaks and her features scream of despair, crying out for help. Marianne has to go to her, has to help-

A man appears behind the woman, grabbing her arm roughly and pulling her away from the railing, and Marianne feels her anger swell. They argue for a few seconds, then the woman rips her arm from his grasp and stalks away. Marianne smiles softly, pride rising to the fore for this stranger. 

Who is she?

The laughter of Sophie and Isabella brings her from her trance and she glances over at the two women, who have apparently finished their card game. Sophie smirks at her and leans forward, tousling her hair as Marianne scowls in protest. 

"What's that for?"

Sophie exchanges a glance with Isabella, who grins up at her.

"You see, she has to look good for the lady, no?"

The two women dissolve into laughter again, as Marianne shakes her head and smoothes her hair.

"Do you need gel, darling?" Sophie quips.

Marianne stares at her for a second, then picks up her sketchbook and stands up to leave. 

"No, come back! It's such a nice day, surely you can find other noblewomen to draw!"

Marianne rolls her eyes and returns to her position next to Sophie. She returns to her drawing, realizing that she has subconsciously finished a rough outline of the woman, her figure gently leaning against the railing. She continues for a while, only stopping when Sophie and Isabella begin to gather their belongings.

"Are you coming? It's almost dinnertime," Sophie asks gently.

Marianne nods, returning the sketch to her bag with care and following the two as they make their way to the dining hall.

* * *

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Héloïse swallows sharply, trying to keep the tears from falling freely. 

Dinner service continues around her, the hum of conversation as well. She observes, in a detached manner, the simpering conversations that occur around her. Beside her, her fiancé boasts to Ismay about some conquest of his. She feels as if she is detached from the scene as if she is not seeing it with her own eyes but from somewhere above. She realizes that this is only the first of perhaps thousands. The rest of her life will be made up of an endless parade of parties and cotillions, yachts and polo matches with always the same narrow people, the same mindless chatter.

Her state is shattered when her fiancé grabs her hand, showing off the engagement ring to one of his dinner companions. 

Suddenly, it's all too much. She cannot continue. The chatter around her, the music, her fiancé's hand over hers and his breath on her cheek. She feels as if she is on the edge of a precipice, with no one there to see her or hold her back.

She rips her hand from his hold and runs.

Through the upper decks towards the back of the ship, not minding who she ran into or who saw her. She hardly realizes the tears streaming down her face or the panicked gasps escaping from her mouth. She barrels through the gate to the third class deck, subconsciously recalling the mystery woman from earlier. In her rush, she fails to register the figure resting on the bench, looking up at the stars. 

Finally. Finally, she reaches the end of the ship, the end of this prison. The furthest she can possibly get from him, from her future. And even then, this isn't enough. 

She gasps for air, holding onto the railing with white knuckles as her thoughts rush in her mind. I need to get out. I've got to get out of here. She gazes down into the black water as it foams between the propellers, the cold air blowing, chilling her to the bone. 

Suddenly, she's able to breathe. She feels calm. Numb, even. She knows what she must do. She needs to get away.

She raises a foot, pulling herself up a rung. 

She needs to get away.

Before she realizes it, she's climbed over the rail and is on the other side, watching the water as it churns in the darkness.

She leans forward. Her body seems to protest, her arms and legs shaking as she looks into the abyss. Just a moment, and then she will be free. It'll all be over.

A voice calls out in the darkness.

"Don't do it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm back and I've spellchecked everything (this is shade to myself...I was so excited to post last week that I literally did not do that all and I'm sorry). I plan to update once a week, preferably at the beginning of the week but in all honesty, Wednesday is probably a good estimate. I was going to wait to post this but the Césars are tomorrow and I wanted to finish this before that. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, feel free to comment or swing by the twitter! Thank you for sticking around!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right... well this is quite late. So much has happened since I was last back here and I do apologize for the very large break. To sum up, when everything is continuously going to shit (like it has this year, good lord, the last time I posted was really the day before the Césars) it's really hard to sit down and write anything. But ay, here we go. If we're being really honest, yes this will go on, but the dates to it are not going to be super consistent like I'd previously planned. It goes as it goes sort of thing. Anyway, love Portrait of a Lady on Fire, love miss Céline Sciamma, and hope you enjoy this very very late offering and take care of yourselves please!

  


"Don't do it."

  


She stills at the sound. Whipping her head around, she can barely see anything in the contrasting brightness of the deck. Her eyes adjust after a moment and she makes out a person, standing before her, hands raised. Her tears hasten; she feels her body shudder. She begins to turn away, returning her focus to the abyss below when the woman blinks and gasps, gazing up at her.

  


"It's you!"

  


Héloïse squints, confused.

  


"I- What?"

  


She's so close to it all. To escaping. To freedom. She glances down at the churning waters below her, her mind locked in a singular focus. She's almost there. She looks back up at the woman; recognition dawns upon her.

  


Héloïse shudders, taking in the woman's features. She's the woman from this afternoon. She's even more striking now, and Héloïse curses her for arriving. She's so damn close.

  


"Stay back! Don't come any closer!" she shouts, her voice surprisingly authoritative, considering her inner panic.

  


The woman shakes her head and inches forward towards Héloïse.

  


"Give me your hand, I'll pull you back over," the woman says, her voice shaking ever so slightly.

  


No. No. No. She has to escape. There is no other option.

  


"Stay away! I'll let go!"

  


The woman takes another step closer.

  


"No, you won't."

  


Héloïse recoils, her panic replaced with annoyance. 

  


What?! 

  


"Don't presume to tell me what I will and will not do. You don't know me."

  


The woman cocks her head up at her, smiling slightly.

  


"If you really wanted to, you would have done it already. The moment you heard my voice. But you didn't."

  


Héloïse turns away, towards the water. 

  


"You're distracting me. Go away."

  


"I can't. I'm involved now. If you jump, I have to jump in after you."

  


Héloïse whips her head back, surprised, as the woman slides her jacket off, rolling up the sleeves of her shirt. 

  


"Don't be absurd. You'll be killed."

  


The woman takes a step closer. Héloïse tenses, clutching the rail tightly.

  


"Well it'll hurt, for sure. And it'll be very cold. But it won't kill us."

  


Héloïse looks down at the water, apprehension rising, her stomach heaving. It would be cold. Very cold. It was already so cold up here.

  


"Have you ever been to Mers-les-Bains?"

  


"What?-"

  


Héloïse turns around for what feels like the thousandth time. Her heart catches in her chest. Mers-les-Bains?

  


The woman starts unlacing her shoes as she continues.

  


"Well, some of the coldest winters I've ever had were there. I lived there for a bit as a kid. Once, I was dared to go into the ocean mid-February."

  


She pauses as she throws her other shoe onto the bench.

  


"Did you?" Héloïse asks, her curiosity overpowering her will to rid herself from this earth.

  


The woman tilts her head up at her, now in the process of unlacing her other shoe; her eyes shine as she seems to recall the memory.

  


"Yes."

  


She pauses.

  


"It's one of the worst feelings I've ever experienced. Water that cold, just like down there, it hits you like a thousand knives all over your body. You can't breath, you can't think... least not about anything but the pain."

  


She stands up, free of both her shoes and gazes at Héloïse as she places them on the bench beside her jacket. Héloïse follows her motions wearily. She's so very tired. Can't she just have this? Her grip tightens on the rail as her finger start to go numb.

  


"Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in after you. But like I said, I don't see a choice. I guess I'm kinda hoping you'll come back over the rail and get me off the hook here."

  


Héloïse looks down at the woman, wonder and confusion mingling. Her earlier words echo in her mind. Maybe it didn't have to be this way? 

  


The woman somehow must have sensed the change, as she steps even closer, almost a foot away now.

  


"Look, give me your hand. I'll help you."

  


"You don't want to do this."

  


Héloïse looks down at the icy water again and swallows as tears come to her eyes.

  


The woman extends her hand over the railing, next to Héloïse's, and for a moment, Héloïse once again considers leaping from the railing, but she is willed back and by some force or another, she doesn't. She takes the woman's hand, her heart leaping at the sudden contact, and turns around. The woman's eyes are misty, but she looks determined as she takes Héloïse in.

  


"Marianne."

  


"Héloise."

  


"That's a beautiful name."

  


"Pleased to meet you, Marianne."

  


They're practically chest to chest now and Marianne smiles slightly at her. Subconsciously, Héloïse notices how absolutely beautiful she is up close. She starts to climb back over the railings, raising her foot onto the higher rail. As she shifts upwards, her foot slips from the rail and she plunges into the darkness, the air rushing outing of her lungs. She cries out, her scream loud above the sound of the waves. Suddenly, a hand wraps grips her hand again, pulling her back towards the ship. She looks up, her breathing erratic as she clutches onto her lifeline. 

  


"Héloïse! Pull yourself up!" Marianne cries out, the panic evident in her voice.

  


Héloïse nods and swallows as she reaches up with her free hand and manages to grip the railing slightly above her. She slips again, screaming as she drops a couple inches closer to the water than before.

  


"Héloïse! Look at me, okay? You can do it, you can do it," Marianne pants out, pulling her up ever so slightly. "I've got you, I won't let go. Now climb!"

  


Héloïse gazes up at her, breathing heavily. She nods, determined, and begins to pull herself up. Marianne, finding a sudden surge of strength, heaves her up over the railing and they fall forward, their momentum propelling them towards the deck. They sprawl onto the deck and Héloïse closes her eyes, exhaling in relief at the solidness of the deck beneath her body. She barely registers Marianne, who is sprawled across her, until she shifts slightly above her.

  


"We did it. We did it. You're okay, Héloïse."

  


Héloïse is unable to form a response quite yet, but she smiles shakily at Marianne, who suddenly realizes the position she is in. 

  


"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to-"

  


Before she can move away, a man in a uniform slides down the ladder and sprints towards them, shoving her off of Héloïse.

  


"Here! What in the hell is this?"

  


* * *

  


Héloïse sits, clinging to the blanket wrapped around her as the activity around her fades in the background. A man shines a light in her eyes, and she can barely summon the effort to respond.

  


I almost died. Died. And I had wanted to. 

  


She exhales slowly, cradling her head in her hands. She'd been through a lot in her life but she had never before felt the urge to hurl herself into the depths of the ocean, let alone almost do so. God, she was so close to dying. Too close. And according to Marianne, she wouldn't even have died on impact, instead she would have been pulled into the dark depths to freeze to death or drown. 

  


Marianne. _Marianne._

  


The woman saved her life. Who would have thrown herself to likely death after her, a stranger, who she had known for at most several minutes.

  


Marianne. Where was she?

  


Héloïse leans forward and looks around, falling out of her stupor. To her right side, several uniformed officers confer. She turns to her other side in confusion, searching for the almost familiar silhouette of Marianne. Instead she sees, the outline of her fiancé.

  


She almost sobs internally. 

  


Not him.

  


He stands in front of Marianne arguing with her as a burly officer puts her into handcuffs. Marianne looks exhausted - almost defeated - as he grabs her by the collar of her shirt and shakes her violently.

  


Why is she in handcuffs? What on earth is going on?

  


"Wait!" she grinds out, her voice weak.

  


She breathes in and out, finding strength as she rises to her feet.

  


"Wait!" she yells, for the second time. "It was an accident!"

  


Her fiancé turns around and looks at her pitifully. 

  


"An accident?! You must be confused. It is clear what happened here. You don't have to lie for this criminal!" he replies.

  


Criminal?!

  


"Please, I'm not a criminal!"

  


"She's not a criminal!"

  


Héloïse locks eyes with her - a quiet agreement passes between them. She turns back to her fiancé, determined.

  


"Let go of her, Lucius. She saved my life."

  


Her fiancé glances over at Marianne.

  


"Sweetpea, you must be confused, let my servant take you to your chambers. It's been a long evening for you."

  


Héloïse shakes her head.

  


"No, let her go."

  


"Héloïse, it seems rather clear. She was on top of you-"

  


"She saved me. I went out to get some air and wanted to see the propellors. I was leaning way over and I slipped and almost fell into the water. She pulled me back over."

  


Her fiancé looks from Marianne to Héloïse and back several times, hesitant to accept her words.

  


"You wanted to see the propellors?" 

  


"Women and machinery do not mix," the officer interjects. 

  


Héloïse bites her lip, refraining herself from replying scornfully and gazes pleadingly at Marianne, who nods imperceptibly.

  


"Was that what happened?" the officer continues.

  


"Yes. That's it," Marianne replies softly, her voice hoarse.

  


Her fiancé nods and signals to the officer quickly.

  


"Right. Well then. Uncuff her. Héloïse, come with me."

  


He reaches towards Héloïse, gripping her arm as he attempts to lead her away. She resists his pull, enough that he stops and looks back at her.

  


"Doesn't she deserve a reward for saving your fiancée's life?" she says, aware of Marianne's gaze as she's uncuffed.

  


He hesitates, but complies, gesturing to his servant. "A twenty should do it."

  


Héloïse withdraws herself from his grasp, glaring at him.

  


“Is that that going rate for saving the woman you love?” She knows she may be pushing it but Marianne deserves better. She deserves the world. And if she can't give her the world, she can give her something.

  


"Oh, you're displeased. Mmm... what to do?"

  


He turns back to Marianne, appraising her condescendingly.

  


"I know. Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow, to regale our group with your heroic tale, eat a decent meal?"

  


Marianne looks at Héloïse for a moment.

  


"Sure. Count me in," she responds, her eyes locked on Héloïse.

  


"Good. Settled then."

  


He nods, satisfied with the exchange, before returning to Héloïse. 

  


"Come now, Héloïse. We must be going."

  


As she's led away, Héloïse feels an urge deep in chest to turn around; behind her - Marianne is still standing there, in socked feet and without a jacket, her gaze never leaving Héloïse's retreating form. 

  



End file.
